


make the new street yours

by callmearcturus



Series: The Hunters Initiative [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Avengers fusion, Five Things Format, In a sense, Light Bondage, M/M, Vacation, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(sequel to <i>an old-fashioned notion</i> and <i>the rattle and the hum</i>) Five cities. A year and a half's time. It's hard to find the pieces of what you need in the world around you when you're not quite sure what you're looking for. Gavin and Michael are figuring it out though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the interlude between _the rattle and the hum_ and _begin the world over again_. This isn't as action-packed as the precious installments and is predominately setting up a **lot** of vital character development before the conclusion of the trilogy.
> 
> Thank you, Toby, the beta of kingdoms. I'm sorry for being more of a diva than usual. Thanks for helping fix Berlin. I still really like "expedience" though, why don't you let me have any fun words? Jerk.

**1\. Sydney, Australia**

It had been years since Gavin had gotten done up nice in a suit and tie. There was probably an important interview or presentation at a prosthetics symposium, but it was long enough ago that Gavin couldn't remember precisely when or why. His uniform was bare feet and a lab coat. It was one of the benefits of being a design savant.

Except after they spent a few days in Perth, Michael insisted on heading to Sydney. Not just on a whim either; Michael had tickets to the bloody Opera House.

He put on a suit, dark grey with blue lining, fumbling the half-Windsor with inexperienced fingers. "I like music," he said, like that explained why they were going to _La Traviata_ when they could be doing... anything else at all, really. "How does this work?"

Gavin didn't know how to do the knot either but it wasn't hard to pull up a tutorial on his tablet and follow the steps. "Liking music is one thing. This is... opera." He pulled a face.

Michael shook his head. "Indulge me," he said, softer. "It reminds me of home."

Gavin couldn’t argue with that. He had to piece it together from a lot of little moments, but he knew that for Michael, singing was a big deal. It came from a million things the more detail-oriented parts of Gavin’s mind latched onto: how Michael retained all the lyrics of any song he heard with perfect recall, how he threw himself into everything he sang with no worries about what the people around him thought.

He groused about how bards did a better job than any history book, and admitted that human history was so distant and dull to him because so much was _missing_. And once, back in Perth, when they’d killed an entire bottle of whiskey between them and lay on the balcony of their hotel room, crushed together on on the wicker settee, Michael had told Gavin what the stars looked like when he was thrown out of Oestret Roethe and fell through the last Bifrost bridge he’d ever see, pausing between sentences to hum aching and forlorn into Gavin’s ear like a lament.

It wasn’t all sad though; Michael had a lovely singing voice and Gavin enjoyed cajoling him into everything from joining in with whatever was on the radio to singing Gavin to sleep with songs that didn't translate into human language, low and feather soft and precise, easing the visions of flames and scrap metal that sometimes haunted his dreams.

As far as he figured, opera was going to be less enthralling than either of those options. But, Michael had asked, so he kept his gob mostly shut and went along.

And it wasn't terrible. They had very nice seats. Like, a bloody private box. Gavin raised his eyebrows at Michael who grinned.

"BYTE gave me a black card. No limit."

"They're using it to track you, you realize," Gavin pointed out.

"Congrats to them. For the low, low price of 2,750 dollars, BYTE now knows I'm in Sydney." He shrugged. "The fuck do I care?"

Gavin laughed. "So I can open the wine bottle?"

"You can open five."

Gavin’s need to stick it to BYTE didn’t go quite so far, but having drink in hand helped when the performance started. Just like that, he completely lost Michael's attention. From the get-go, he was captivated by the show. Gavin wasn't jealous, but he was baffled by it. He got the significance of opera, sure, but the actual thing… he could do without. But he did try, watching for a long enough to glean a few things. Once he decided he liked Violetta, he tuned the rest of the opera out because obviously she was going to die tragically in the end.

More interesting was Michael. His attention was absolute, his eyes focused and faintly glowing in the dim light of the box seat. There was no lack of comprehension or lag time; when something was especially impressive or dramatic, it was writ large on his face immediately. Gavin didn't understand a word of the opera, but the highs and lows were evident anyway.

But even Michael's lovely little face couldn't entertain Gavin forever. Trying to be subtle about it, Gavin shrunk low in his (actually very comfortable) chair and dug his 3DS out of his coat pocket. He dialed the brightness of the screen all the way down and tried to hide the device against the arm of the chair.

After a moment, it became obvious that Michael was too focused on the performance to catch him out. Gavin snorted, amused and annoyed in equal measure, and dared to tuck an earbud in to listen to the game music as he explored Lumiose City.

Between acts, Michael spotted him and tsked loudly. "Really, Gavin?"

"Look," Gavin said coolly, "I may come from a stupidly rich technology empire, but I'm sort of a tasteless git, so..." He waved a hand. "Enjoy, whatever."

"It's not about taste, it's about history and conveying it with--" Gavin started mouthing along with Michael. "You are such a shit sometimes."

"Michael." Gavin finally looked up from his battle. "Enjoy your opera, love. I will enjoy leveling my team and the very nice wine BYTE has bought us."

"You are the worst," Michael muttered, shaking his head, but left him to it.

All the level grinding that Gavin forced himself to do was very dramatic with the background music of the opera, and by the time the show was over, he'd gotten his team up a few levels and even gotten his squirtle. It was a good run, and on top of it all, Gavin looked over the balcony enough to see that, yes, he was right, and Violetta had been doomed.

Michael's eyes were shining and he just demurred when Gavin asked if he'd enjoyed the show. They left the box quietly, Michael catching Gavin's hand and pulling him away from the extremely crowded lobby. They found their own way out, a service entrance, and Michael lifted them up and away before they could be seen, one arm wrapped securely around Gavin.

They touched down on a quiet side road close to their hotel. Gavin appreciated the walk, the ability to stretch his legs after the long performance. Michael was still quiet, face contemplative. Gavin wondered if that look was homesickness and bumped his shoulder into Michael to see him blink it away, the color returning to his eyes. "What?"

Gavin grinned at him. "Out of sheer affection and devotion, I just sat through an _incredibly_ boring show. On a Saturday night, no less, when I could’ve been sampling Sydney's alcoholic wares."

Somehow, it seemed like Michael's eyes pitched brighter. "That so? Aw, man, that's rough. How will you survive that kind of selfless hardship?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Gavin swayed into Michael again. "I think I am going to have my boyfriend make it up to me. Thoroughly. I think equal time spent is fair, don't you?"

There was _definitely_ a gleam glowing like a hot coal amid the amber of his iris. "That's almost three hours. Are we counting intermission?"

Gavin thought about it and checked his phone's clock. "At this hour, ah, probably not?" He snickered at the thought of being up that late just for retribution. At that rate, there wasn't much point to sleeping really and he did have plans for the morning. "Or, ooh, yes, but you have to condense that four hours into three for me."

Michael laughed softly. "You're overthinking it again."

"I do that." He pulled Michael up the stairs to the hotel, grinning. "You like it though."

"Well, you are pretty cute when you’re thinking yourself into fucking circles."

"I'll think you in bloody circles."

Michael's dimples appeared as he shook his head. "Really, Gavin?"

"Shut up, you owe me." He reached out and caught the blue silk of Michael's tie, holding it loosely as he led him into the elevator. Michael's gaze darted down to his grip, then back up to Gavin's face, expression ticking a little further away from playful and towards a simple _intensity_.

"Okay," Michael said, hushed, and followed when Gavin pulled him along to their room. There, Gavin stilled by the door, leaning back against it and watching Michael watch him. He nodded to the lock and Michael obediently dug out his key, opening it for them. When Gavin tugged, Michael went easily into the room, then stopped and waited as Gavin kicked the door shut behind them.

Alone. Michael leaned in for a kiss, and Gavin put a hand against his collarbone, and a small voice in his head yelled in nervous excitement as Michael stopped dead, his pupils blown wide to almost eclipse his irises.

Anticipation breaking over him, he slid his hand along Michael's shoulder, under his jacket. Michael wordlessly shrugged off the jacket and tossed it aside. He let Gavin trace down his arm, fingers tangling for a brief moment before letting go so Gavin could unbuckle his belt and slide it out of his trouser loops.

"Yeah?" Gavin breathed out.

Michael nodded, cheeks flushing. Gavin's fingers continued along, unzipping Michael's trousers before reversing and working up his shirt, taking care of each of the buttons. He undid them all, and tugged the collar out from under his tie, pushing the shirt to the floor. Then, he couldn't help laughing.

"What?"

"Ah, I thought I'd... leave the tie on but you look like a right idiot like that. Here," Gavin explained, tugging the knot loose and the tie free. Michael took the opportunity to bend forward and kiss Gavin's hand and got a flick on the nose in response. "Hey, now."

Michael blinked guilelessly. "Cheeky," Gavin accused, pushing Michael away. He went, still letting himself being directed without fuss, and it made something hot and hungry circle in Gavin's belly. Low and steady, he said, "Now do me."

All he got was another nod before Michael was tugging his tie loose, taking his jacket, stepping in close enough to breathe Gavin's air as he unbuttoned his shirt. His trousers were pushed down, and he felt Michael lift him again, the same hold with an arm snug under his arse as before, but now with fewer layers between. Michael walked backwards and sat on the bed, Gavin settling above him with hands braced on his shoulders. "You naughty thing," Gavin exhaled against Michael's forehead, nuzzling into his curls. "Did I say you could do that?"

"Sorry," Michael said, not sounding it. He reached to unlace Gavin's shoes, nudging them off, and pushed the socks off to follow. Careful and precise, he dragged one nail along the bottom of Gavin's foot, along the arch, and Gavin yelped, jerking as the ticklish sensation hit him.

"Stop that!" Gavin said, bapping Michael on the shoulder. He could feel Michael's laugh against his neck. "What happened to you owing me?"

"I'm sorry," he said again, tilting his head back and taking a quick kiss when Gavin gifted it to him, tongue tracing Gavin's lips, mouth opening when Gavin pushed. "Mhm."

"Come on." He slipped off Michael's lap so he could pull his shorts off. "Come on, come on." He helped Michael finish stripping before pushing him back down flat, climbing onto the bed to straddle him. Without having to look down, he knew he was in a lovely spot. It only took a second to feel tendrils reach for him, coiling around his cock and urging him to sit back, settling into the grip of Michael's tentacle. His head fell back at the hot touch, the almost luxurious rich feeling of the slick spread along the thick fuzz that covered Michael. "Oh, oh _christ_."

Michael gripped Gavin’s hips, fingers spread wide, squeezing as he urged Gavin to rock against him, a familiar, delicious grind. Gavin scrambled to hold Michael's wrists, hanging on and moving with his strong grip for a moment. It would easy to fall into that rhythm, they'd done it so many times before--

But it wasn't quite the thing. Gavin gathered himself, looked down at Michael and the smug curve of his mouth, and decided that wouldn't do.

He pinned Michael's wrists to the bed, leaning forward over him, arms bracketing Michael's face. " _Naughty_ , naughty boy."

Michael’s red lips parted as his face pulled together in an expression of concentration. Gavin let out a surprised noise as the main tentacle started to rub up and down the underside of his dick. "Oh, god, Michael..." It took all he had to rally himself, squeezing Michael's wrists and pushing them down harder. " _Michael_."

Michael stilled, giving Gavin all of his attention. "Yeah?"

"You..." Gavin's eyes shut for a moment as he rocked against Michael again. He lay still down there, but his tendrils continued to run loosely over Gavin's cock, slicking the way further. "Your hands, keep them here. No moving."

Michael's eyes were half-lidded and he nodded. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And when Gavin let go, Michael just took two handfuls of the sheets and held on. Experimenting with it, Gavin leaned in, kissing him, diving right in until Michael made a quiet, pained sound. His hands tightened in the sheets, but otherwise he obeyed.

It was too tempting to not push. Gavin knew that Michael was a bundle of sensitive spots and set to prodding at them.

His mouth followed the line of Michael's jaw up back to his ear, nipping at the hard angle, nosing at the soft skin behind. His hand cupped Michael's head, thumb matching his slow, circular pressure on the other side. He felt Michael's breath hitch, the slow, forced exhale as he tried to hold still. Gavin smirked and slid down, mouthing wetly against his neck to the dip above his clavicle. One hand, still lingering around Michael's wrist, ran down his arm, feeling the tense bunching of his muscles. It was amazing, all that power just laid out and compliant.

Balancing on one hand, Gavin slipped his other hand down between them to tangle his fingers in Michael's tendrils. For all the restraint above his waist, below he was just as greedy and grabby, coiling around Gavin's wrist and fingers. Gavin arched his back, mouthing down Michael's chest and grinding his hips into his hand and the lavender bulges.

Michael made a winded noise, accompanied by the musical sound of the sheets ripping. "Fuck, fuck, sorry," Michael babbled, gasping.

Gavin craned up to kiss him again. "Shush, love, it's all right." He bit Michael's lip, letting out a shudder. "You-- You're so lovely, my lovely boy, so good..." It felt like Michael was fairly gushing, hot and wet, gripping Gavin's dick and wrapping around his balls. The big tentacle slid back to his arse, spreading Gavin slightly and rubbing back and forth lazily. "Oh, fuck, Michael..."

Michael tossed his head, panting, bracing his feet against the bed. His core muscles worked, hips lifting. Gavin wanted to scold him, to make him ask for it first, beg for it, but was caught up by how good it felt. It really felt like a ride, Gavin scrambling to hold himself up as he was pitched up every time Michael's hips moved. The friction and the slick together were _amazing_ and orgasm smashed into him, catching him off guard.

He almost fell, but Michael's hands caught him, pulling him in as Michael sat up. Gavin clung to his shoulders, hips working erratically, groaning deeply at the rush of it. Distantly, he felt Michael grasp his arse, helping his tentacle wiggle in and nudge up into Gavin. The heat of it, the pressure, almost set Gavin right off again; despite how quiet as he usually was in bed, he yelled in shock, trying to push back.

It went on a long while, until the taut muscles in Gavin's abdomen started to twinge and he scratched at Michael's back, whimpering. Michael lifted him up with one more upward thrust and the slick ran heavily into Gavin, against his dick, the insides of his legs. "Oh fffuck," Michael groaned. His hands stroked against Gavin's skin, face tucked into his neck as he gulped down air.

They slowed, eventually, and Michael relaxed back into the bed, Gavin against his chest, still breathing hard. Gavin’s face pulled into a wince and he rubbed his dripping slick hand against his abdomen. "Ow."

Michael hummed, looking down at him. "You all right?"

"Think so. Was just a bit intense, wasn't it?" Gavin shivered, a warm, sated feeling rolling down his spine. There was an ache still, making his face go pinched with every breath. Michael rolled them onto their sides and started to knead Gavin’s belly. “Uhm, oh shit…”

“Good or bad?”

Gavin rolled fully onto his back, holding Michael’s hand in place. “N-not sure, but keep doing it.” He laughed. “You owe me at _least_ another two hours anyway.”

“If your lazy ass stays awake that long, I’ll be fucking amazed.” His palm pressed in slow circles anyway, and it hurt, but in a nice way, loosening something that had strung too tight when Gavin had come. It helped.

"God... You are awful at following orders, aren't you?"

Michael snorted. "Sorry." He met Gavin's eyes, and Gavin could see a bit of nervousness there with all the affection and weariness. "I'll do better next time?"

Slowly, that percolated in Gavin's brain, and he grinned. "Yeah." He pressed his hand over Michael's heart. "Next time."

 

* * *

 

**2\. Berlin, Germany**

The hotel room was dark when Michael found his way back, drenched in sea water and blood frosted where it clung to his half-frozen clothes. Peeling out of his pants and jacket and armor felt like shedding old, ruined skin to find pink, new flesh underneath. The fact that he could barely _feel_ his fucking skin through the numbness of water and ice was less fun, but a hot shower would fix that.

Getting out of his clothes had felt good but was nothing next to the first spray of water. The water started off lukewarm, and even then Michael hissed and jerked away from the feeling, the temperature difference painful. It took five minutes of fiddling with the knobs and slowly turning up the hot water until he was able to stand there, comfortable, the scalding heat running down from his hair, down his neck, over his skin. Blood and salt washed away, down the drain, and Michael was quietly glad that Gavin wasn’t around to see.

Berlin hadn’t been kind to Gavin so far. They’d just come from Russia to escape the sudden, brutal cold as it fell across Europe. Their sights were on Paris, but it was as though the universe didn’t want to let Gavin out of the grasp of winter. Michael couldn’t fly him out of Russia without risking frostbite nipping at Gavin’s delicate human skin, and they were waylaid waiting for roads to clear.

What was supposed to be just a pit stop turned into a week spent in Berlin when Griffon asked Gavin to check out a technology conference in the area. Then, tonight, their last night in Berlin and the only one they’d had to themselves had been crashed by Jack calling Michael about a group of ice giants marching on the coast of Sweden. Being the only major player in the area, Michael had to leave Gavin in the middle of the city with his umbrella and his bag full of German chocolate truffles to fly north as fast as he could.

Michael ran his knuckles down his arm, tracing the new scars he was already sporting from the fight. He healed fast, and the ice giants hadn’t been enough of a threat to slow him down, but he could fucking feel the sting of the salt under the white pale lines of his skin. Splinters of frozen salt water couldn’t take out a storm god, but that shit fucking hurt. It gnawed at him as the numbness faded and feeling rushed back to him.

He could use a drink. He could use about four drinks and to maybe find where Gavin had ensconced himself. A steak would be good. Steak, beer, and Gavin’s concerned-if-sarcastic company. He didn’t know of a better balm for his wounds than that.

Michael went in search of Gavin. Their hotel bar was a good spot for the artisan, but Gavin wasn’t there.

Without any reasonable train of logic, Michael found himself worried. He’d left Gavin in the shopping district and had assumed he’d make his way back to the hotel. When it became clear that wasn’t the case, Michael mentally reached out for the Bifrost, activating that beacon.

He followed the feeling in his gut, like a hook sunk in and pulling him forward. He walked over rooftops with light steps, leaping across streets easily, feeling it in his bones as he got closer to the shard. It hummed through him, frequency picking up until it was almost a painful reverb in him. There was a time when he had resented it, the sting of the Bifrost's cry. He had been young and stupid.

He was still young, and he wasn't much smarter. But he was stupid in a whole different way now, and understood the importance of having something to protect.

So it hurt to find Gavin sitting outside a darkened cafe, lounging under one of the umbrellas against the rain. He had his shopping bags at his feet but had taken out one of the boxes of chocolate truffles and was working his way through it. The little foil wrappers were littered around the table. A few were folded into paper planes. As Michael watched, Gavin made another one, not even looking at his fingers, working by touch. He tossed it with a flick of his wrist and it sailed out from under the umbrella before hitting the wet ground. Gavin sighed, shaking his head, and bit into another chocolate.

Michael had learned the difference between humans happy-eating chocolate and sad-eating chocolate, and this wasn’t happy.

He stepped off the roof he was on and into an alley, falling to the ground out of sight. Mentally reaching out, he nudged the Bifrost shard back to slumber, ending its racket, and made his way across the street to Gavin.

Gavin took a second to notice someone standing over him and looked up at Michael balefully. “‘Lo,” he said and popped the rest of his chocolate into his mouth. “How was the heroing?”

“Ice Giants. Shatter easily.” The rest he didn’t feel the need to go into. “I thought you’d go back to the hotel.”

The smirk on Gavin’s lips then wasn’t a happy one. He picked out another truffle and rolled it between his fingers, applying pressure until the hard shell fractured. “Bad with directions, aren’t I?”

Michael frowned. “Why not just use your phone?”

One shrugged shoulder, and Gavin picked off a bit of the shell to eat. “Dead.”

Oh. “You know German, you could have asked for directions.”

“I didn’t…” Gavin sighed again, deeper, and put the truffle to his lips, licked the bittersweet cream. “My German’s not nearly as good as I thought and worse yet I couldn’t remember which hotel we were in. Or the street-- don’t make that face, please.” He crumpled a wrapper in his hand and tossed it aside carelessly. “I didn’t wanna search for it alone in the rain. Anyway. You’re here. Let’s just go.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael told him, somewhat at a loss.

“It’s not your bloody fault about the ice giants,” Gavin groused.

“Yeah, but… You knew this was part of it.”

Gavin looked away sharply, and Michael immediately regret saying that. “Of course.”

“It’s not that you’re not important but sometimes--”

“I never said I was more important, d’you think I’m that much of a bastard?”

“No, you’re not, but you’re acting like--” Michael stopped, shook his head. “Hang on.”

Gavin crossed his arms, looking furious with flushed cheeks and a curled lip. “Acting like _what_ , what am I acting like?” His voice shook, either from the cold or from emotion. “Not like a man who’s been waiting out in the rain? Who missed dinner because of a bloody crisis a thousand miles away? Who just wants to go home and have a hot shower?”

“Well I’m fucking sorry I couldn’t hold your umbrella for you and prevent three ice giants from _taking out the entire city of Stockholm!_ ” Michael snapped, quick and biting.

Gavin recoiled, but only for a second before his face pulled into a grimace. “I’m not _asking_ you to, you asshole, but if you expect me to smile and wave as you bloody sail off into the sky, I _can’t_ , all right?”

There was a moment of stillness when Michael let that sink in, distantly anguished that _this was it_. The sound of the rain around them grew louder as the downpour intensified. Michael licked his lips, mouth dry. “So, what, then? Do you want me to take you home? I can do that.” He was still too loud, but the fear that Gavin had finally gotten fed up with this life and the realities of what Michael did, he felt it like a pain in his chest worst that the salt water under his skin.

“What? No!” Gavin shook his head hard enough that droplets of water flung out of his damp hair. “I didn’t mean _home_ -home, I meant th-the hotel room, with you, you nob.” He ducked his head, mouth tucking into his scarf until just his nose hung over the wrap of wool. “Unless you don’t want to deal with my whingey arse--”

“No, Gavin, don’t…” Michael ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “Don’t go. Unless you want to, then I-- I get it.”

“I don’t want to,” Gavin said with a heavy finality, eyes staring into Michael’s.

Michael’s shoulders slumped. He felt exhausted to his bones in a way that was deeper than the physical weariness from the ice giants. Relief was washing through him, though, and some of the tension in his muscles released as he held Gavin’s gaze and saw the quiet strength still there under the damp and cold and stress.

They stood together in the street awkwardly for a while, the echoes of the fight fading gradually, leaving the two of them alone with the winter rain.

They both started to speak again at the same time and both fell silent again. It was uncomfortable in a way Michael hadn’t felt since…fuck, since Narvaroth got his claws into Gavin and left him worn down. It burned him to see, especially now when they were supposed to be together and traveling and happy.

He wished things weren’t so complicated.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Michael mumbled.

“I… Christ, Michael, just…” He picked up his bags and stepped into Michael’s space, putting one arm around his shoulders. His fingers tangled up into Michael’s curls. “Let’s go back, okay?”

Michael said nothing, just nodding and bending to pick Gavin up in an easy carry. He didn’t hold Gavin across his arms often since he tended to fly slowly, anchoring Gavin with a single arm around his waist. Holding him close now was reassuring though and he clutched Gavin when he felt him shiver slightly as the wind whipped past them.

Gavin was damp from the rain and tired from his last few busy days and had sad-eaten almost an entire box of chocolates and was shivering in Michael’s arms, but was still here.

It was always so easy to lift Gavin and carry him away, reassured he was still allowed. There were plenty of times they were subtle about it, about Michael being who he was with his flying around. Tonight was not one such night; he carried Gavin back to their hotel room, right to the balcony. If anyone saw them, it wasn’t a big deal; they’d be gone by tomorrow.

Gavin dropped his things in the kitchenette area and started to peel out of his coat. It was heavy from collecting rain and he sighed, tossing it into the bathroom to drip noisily into the tub before unwinding his scarf and pulling his gloves off with his teeth.

When he was down to his boxers, he shivered with his whole body, looking to Michael. His smile then was kind and as genuine as Michael could have hoped for after... before. “Hey,” he called across the room. “Make yourself useful and warm me up.”

Michael wasn’t sure when that started to become a thing between them, but it was. Clammy arms wound around his chest and Gavin tucked his face into Michael’s neck, his breath as warm as his skin wasn’t. In return, Michael wrapped his arms around Gavin and shut his eyes, relaxing.

In moments, his body heated up, and Gavin pressed closer, humming happily as the feeling soaked into him. It was strange, even to Michael, who probably should have known _why_ his body tended to warm up when Gavin was cold, but it was nice nonetheless.

“Mm,” Gavin hummed, low and pleased. His hands spread wide over Michael’s skin, touching as much as he could.

“Come on, babe,” Michael said into Gavin’s ear, guiding Gavin to the bed. Taking a moment to kill the lights first, Michael joined him, sliding between sheets and finding himself quickly pressed down by Gavin’s body as he lay across him.

“M’still cold,” Gavin whispered, mouth ghosting against Michael’s.

“Yeah?” He pulled him in closer with one arm around his hips, and Gavin moved with him, huffing as he shifted against Michael. “I can help you there.”

The lights were out and the curtains were drawn, blocking the glow of Berlin at night. It was simple to follow Gavin’s movements by touch; he rolled against Michael, crashing into him like a wave, slow at first but with growing intensity. There was sweet friction that only got better as Michael unsheathed. They wiggled around in bed until Gavin was laying between Michael’s legs with his arms braced on either side of Michael’s head. The slick slide of Gavin’s dick against Michael’s bulges was _good_. His tendrils looped eagerly around Gavin, their grip tight, as if he would try to move away.

Gavin’s tongue was pink, poking out between his lips as he ground against Michael. Seized by a sudden urge, Michael leaned up, touched his tongue to Gavin’s. It made Gavin’s concentration burst like a soap bubble, and he laughed. The clear, open sound helped the nervous worry deep in Michael's chest.

If there had been any reservation in Gavin’s movements before, they were gone now. He gripped Michael’s biceps, and Michael held his arms so he could work their hips together, slick and blood hot. They’d done this so many times, any shyness about anatomy had been eroded away; Gavin knew precisely how to move against Michael, hard enough to make his tendrils squirm and grip him, but careful of his sheath.

He was surprised when Gavin came suddenly, body jerking. His arms shook, and Michael held him up as he groaned, breathlessly apologizing.

“It’s fine, here, just,” Michael rolled them, laying Gavin out beneath him. Gavin went, loose-limbed and easy, and Michael picked up where he left up, rocking them together. He couldn’t resist pushing for more with Gavin like this, so open and languid. His tentacle nudged up into Gavin as the tendrils squeezed his dick.

The moan Gavin let out at that was loud enough Michael almost gave a shit about the thin hotel walls. His eyes pinched shut and he pushed back against Michael, taking him in deeper, breath stuttering out. Michael pressed into the heat of him, choking out a laugh. “Still cold?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gavin said, tossing his head back. “C’mon, Michael--!”

The catch in his voice spurred Michael on, and he thrust fast, spilling messily over them. He’d just wanted to get off quickly in the wake of Gavin’s orgasm, but now Gavin was sucking in harsh breaths and letting out soft, needy moans on every exhale.

Michael worked them together hard enough the entire bed moved with them, squeaking violently. It joined the sound of Gavin’s voice in Michael’s ears and the smell of Gavin’s rain-damp skin as he nosed against his neck, a tidal wave of sensation hitting him. He spilled slick heavily as he came, across Gavin’s legs and ass, voice catching in his throat.

That should’ve been it for him, but Gavin was writhing under him, gasping. “Love, please, I’m so close, please.”

There wasn’t much coordination in Michael and he needed more stimulation to get going again, but he tucked his face against Gavin’s shoulder and reached down to grasp Gavin’s dick. The noise Gavin let out was pained, but he begged sweetly and Michael jerked him until he tensed and came again.

“Oh god. Oh, _fffuck_ ,” Gavin managed between deep breaths. Michael could feel his chest rise and fall as he gasped in the wake of it, but couldn’t make himself do anything but pet his slick hand up and down Gavin’s arm, lazy with afterglow. “Michael. _Mi_ chael.”

“Mhm,” Michael grunted, nosing against Gavin’s ear, hoping some simple affection would be enough for now.

Gavin was not so satisfied and kneed Michael’s hip. “You lazy git, roll over.”

“Woof,” Michael said, sardonic but obedient as he tipped off of Gavin. “Jus’ sleep, clean up tomorrow.”

“But I just… That was twice.”

“Mmhm.”

“Does refractory period mean anything to you?” He was still somewhat hushed and breathless, but determined to make this into a conversation.

“No,” Michael said truthfully and tried not to be too obvious about how he was about to fall asleep.

“You… It’s a human thing, it’s-- Michael. Don’t sleep.”

Michael sighed and leaned in to kiss Gavin’s mouth, full and soft. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but it’s weird.”

“Bad weird?” It didn’t seem bad weird to him, but Michael had been wrong about these sorts of things before.

Gavin hushed at that, though. “No. No, I don’t… think so.” He got a thoughtful set to his face, watching his own fingers as they traced the curving lines of Michael’s tattoo. “It’s not usual, though.”

“What, the… coming twice?” Michael asked, and Gavin nodded. “Really? For humans?”

“For men, generally.”

Michael thought about that, then grinned. “So what you’re saying is that I’m amazing?”

Gavin’s concern vanished as he rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the pillows, swinging it sideways and into Michael’s face. “Oh, shut up. Just go to sleep.”

“No, come on, I’m listening to you talk science, tell me about how I’m so good I accomplished the physically impossible for you.”

“Smug is a terrible look for you,” Gavin said, rolling over to the other side of the bed, where the sheets were drier. Michael followed, catching Gavin before he settled and spooning up behind him. “I’m getting on the first plane back to Austin.”

“No, you’re not.” Michael grinned, quietly thrilled at how the joke rolled over him with no fear or worry.

“I’m not,” Gavin agreed. “Just stay back there where I don’t have to look at your dumb mug.”

“Okay,” he said, stropping his cheek against Gavin’s smooth skin, settling in against him.

“I can hear you being smug still.” Gavin stopped to yawn. “Stop it and sleep, we have to get out of this bloody city tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Michael said again, shutting his eyes and resting his ear against Gavin’s back, listening to the steady lulling beat of his heart.

 

* * *

 

**3\. Osaka, Japan**

Gavin spent most of his time in Osaka nervous.

They weren't even supposed to make for Osaka. Their rough itinerary had them swinging south after Delhi and out towards New Zealand to see if the Peter Jackson films were really so accurate. Michael wasn't a fan of the films (of any fantasy, really, as he had a hard time judging what was made up and what was pulled from reality) but Gavin was, and if Gavin had to go along with Michael wanting to see every bloody musical the world had to offer, then Gavin got his detours.

But New Zealand was pushed back when Japan started having rumbling of monsters. Japan had its own heroes, obviously, but what had started as a few super-fast amphibian monsters had escalated into much larger creatures that started to feast on the port towns. One defender, Barnaby or something, had gone after the things in a contraption that was closer to a mech than a battle prosthesis. His suit didn't take well to the extensive water damage that came from tussling with amphibious monsters with claws that tore adamantium alloy like tin foil.

With that guy going down for the count in a very public blaze of not-glory, Michael and Gavin made for Osaka next and got a hotel room.

Even in the wake of the attack, there was a heavy tension that followed them around. The two of them tried their normal routine of trying out what the area had to offer, but Gavin kept checking his iPhone for local news updates and Michael actually kept his phone on him, waiting for a call. It was hard to appreciate beautiful gardens or brisk spring weather or the enormous grove of cherry trees around Osaka Castle when they were waiting for the worst.

Being nearby helped, though. They got word first.

"Tokyo is so bloody cliche," Gavin said, and Michael smirked a little before holding up his hand. His hammer flew into his grasp with such speed and force that it pulled him into the air, and he let it, accelerating and vanishing to the northeast in seconds.

There was nothing for Gavin to do then but go back to their room. They had yet to come up with a communications system that could stand up to Michael at the height of his power and, really, Gavin wouldn't be able to provide much aid if they had. Michael fought in a way that was entirely different to Geoff's style, with a speed and efficiency of movement that apparently came from the way he was trained and from a hundred years of combat. He wasn’t a team player, in disposition or in tactics. There was no suit to manage, no radar or targeting to supervise, nothing for Gavin to do but distract him.

Brushing a few pale pink flower petals off his shoulders, he headed back, walking alone and grimly running the maths on how fast Michael was going and how long it'd be before he reached Tokyo.

 

* * *

 

A bento box bought from a street vendor on the way back was probably not the best dinner ever, but it wasn't the worst Gavin had eaten. The food wasn't important, just fuel to keep him up through the night as he spent his time on his tablet watching live news streams from Tokyo, watching the TV in the room for coverage of Tokyo, calling Jack to see if BYTE had any information on Tokyo, and running translator software on the tweets out of Tokyo. On his phone, he followed the live doppler, keeping an eye on the weather patterns and how the storm moved.

It was a busy evening for him.

There was, predictably, very little footage to look at. There was a _lot_ of fucking lightning, as usual with Michael, and anyone who pointed a camera at the action got nothing worth looking at. The magic of a storm god didn't play well with human cameras.

Gavin nearly strained his eyes squinting at photos and freeze frames before forcing himself to just _stop_. He could hear Griffon's voice in his head, telling him to stop letting himself get drawn into these _useless_ loops and just stop.

He almost called her. But he liked to think he was done being a child. It'd only taken 26 years to get there.

Because Gavin dealt with his emotions in really weird ways, he changed into his boxers, threw on a robe, and sat at the kotatsu with his tablet playing Pacific Rim. It wasn't his favorite movie, but it felt fitting right now, and the dumb joke helped him worry a little less.

Around the time Ron Perlman started chewing the scenery in the most glorious manner possible, there was a tap at the door. The breath Gavin had been subconsciously holding for hours, the one that pushed out of his lungs painfully each time he remembered to breathe, finally sighed out. "There's my boy," he murmured, shutting down his tablet.

The door opened behind him as he unfolded his long legs from under the table. Michael said, softly, "Do me a favor and don't freak out, okay?"

"Do you have to say that every time--" Gavin turned around and felt the blood drain from his face as he got a look at Michael. "Bloody hell."

Michael half-smiled half-grimaced through the blood on his face. There was something just _off_ about his face, but Gavin couldn't see what through the red and the dim light. As he watched, it repaired itself, the injured left side slowly returning to match the right. Michael brought up a hand and rubbed the blood from his eye, and his skin was neat and perfect. "Yeah, uh. Rough night of work, you know how it is. I'm almost healed up though."

The fingers of his left hand twitched and flexed, the motion brittle. Michael's jacket, the one he wore almost everywhere, that Griffon had designed with its punky flair and jagged, lightning-bolt stitching, was torn. The left arm was gone, leaving a frayed cuff at the shoulder. When Michael saw Gavin looking, he said, "Yeah, sorry. Jacket's pretty fucked. I don't think you can patch that."

There was humor in his tone, slathered heavily over the pain. Gavin couldn't make his own words come as he continued to take inventory. Michael's arm was there, but it was missing its long, swirling tattoo that wound dark around his arm down to his elbow. It was just smooth skin. "What happened?"

"It's just regen'd. Don't freak out."

"You--" Gavin fisted his hands in his hair. "You lost your arm?!"

"What’d I just say! Don't freak out! It's back, okay? I'm fine. Just a bit tingly." His fingers jerked again. "Nerves are just waking up. It's like when your arm falls asleep."

Gavin made some upset sounds, because _Michael lost an arm_ and was treating it like no big deal and Gavin wasn't sure how to handle that yet. He needed to do something, though.

Without a word, he went to the bathroom and grabbed one of the towels, wetting it. He turned, and Michael was in the doorway, looking curious as he watched Gavin. "Sit," Gavin commanded.

Michael smiled. "Okay." He put the toilet cover down and sat on it.

Gavin helped him out of his clothes. His jacket was a lost cause, but the mail shirt was intact underneath and Gavin removed it as carefully as he could. He threw it all into the bathtub to be sorted out later before picking up the towel and beginning to wash the blood off Michael's face.

Michael shut his eyes and tipped his head up to the attention. Gavin had never been this close to Michael's blood. It looked human, but-- not. The color was different, but he couldn’t place exactly how. Maybe it was more translucent, maybe there was a hint of bioluminescence like the color that shone in Michael's iris.

Whatever it was, Gavin didn't care. He wanted it gone, and he focused on washing it all away the best he could, rewetting and squeezing out the towel as needed. Michael seemed to enjoy the process, drowsy and pleased like a cat.

Washing Michael's arm was strange. As Gavin did, he expected the tattoo to appear, having just been covered up by the blood somehow. But Michael's skin was unmarked except for his freckles. Would he have to get the tattoo again? The idea made Gavin feel almost sick.

"What's that face for?" Michael asked quietly.

Gavin bit his lip and shook his head, tossing the towel into the tub as well. "Are you really okay? Are you certain?"

Michael stood up and lifted off the ground enough to rest his forehead against Gavin's. "What kind of godling would I be if I let some Gojira-wannabe slow me down?" He drew away, touching back down and walking into the main room again. "You don't usually worry like this."

"You don't usually come back covered in blood and having lost a limb," Gavin pointed out, following.

Michael nodded in agreement. "It's almost back in operation." He sat on the bed and unbuckled his shoes with one hand. Gavin realized that he'd not moved more than the fingers of his regenerated arm yet.

Sitting next to him, Gavin touched the pale curve of his shoulder gently. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah. I need to actually..." Boots discarded, Michael turned his attention to his arm, grabbing it with his working hand and rubbing the muscles hard, fingers digging in. "Work through the tingles. I'm fine, I swear."

Gavin watched as Michael kneaded his bicep with a bored expression on his face. He'd done this before, that much was obvious. Gavin tried not to wonder if it had been an arm that time too or if he'd lost another limb to a toothy monster. It didn't even have to be teeth, it could have been any sort of--

Gavin swatted Michael's hand away. "Oh, stop it, you're practically begging for me to lay on hands."

The grin he got as he started to take over the job was coy. "I wasn't going to ask."

"You should, next time. God forbid there's a next time, but--" Gavin framed Michael's arm with his fingers and dragged his thumbs along the new flesh, making Michael grit his teeth and groan. "I can't much help you out there, I know that, and I'm fine with that. But I can help you here, can't I?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"I can tell," Gavin murmured. He lifted Michael's hand, the limp weight with it, and settled it on his shoulder. This way, Gavin could work at the softer skin from Michael's armpit to his elbow. The texture was just slightly off in a way that perplexed him as he worked until he realized it felt like human skin. Slowly, the fuzz seemed to come in right beneath the pads of his fingers, starting from the shoulder and spreading down.

"Lie down." He urged Michael onto the bed, flat on his back with his arm in Gavin's lap. Michael had that happy cat look again, eyes slitted and lips curled up.

"I could stand to have you boss me around more."

"Maybe when you're not an invalid.” Gavin turned Michael’s arm over, palm up, and pressed the heel of his hand down, massaging up from the wrist to the elbow. “Feeling better?”

“ _Fuck yes_. Can I convince you to do my back too? Your hands are fucking amazing.”

Gavin chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow. This is hard work.”

He kept at it for a while, turning Michael this way and that to make sure he got to everywhere that needed attention. All of his weight went into it, pushing and coaxing Michael’s flesh back to life. Eventually, Michael’s fingers curled and uncurled over and over, the motion smooth and fluid. Gavin felt accomplished, important, like he was urging Michael back into himself as his fuzz spread all the way down, covering his skin again.

He stilled when he saw a dark swirl appear in Michael arm, up by the shoulder. It looped into a dark circle, tracing itself over and over until it was a thick line. “Michael…”

Michael opened his eyes, having been dozing, and turned his head to look. “Oh. It’s coming back. I’m pretty much healed up then.”

The line corkscrewed around Michael’s arm, branching every few inches into a perpendicular squiggle. It was the same as Gavin remembered, the tattoo filling itself back in. “Your tattoo regenerates?”

“It’s… not a tattoo. It’s a record,” Michael said softly. It was the first time he’d admitted as much. The markings on Michael’s arms had always been a point of contention for them; they were plainly significant to Michael, somehow deeply important, but whenever Gavin asked, he remained silent on the meaning. “The royal family has them. It’s-- see, look here, where it started, that circle?” Gavin nodded and touched the dark line carefully. “That’s when I was born. That’s Oestret Roethe. And here’s my clutch and-- things I did when I was young.” Michael swallowed loudly, his smile suddenly gone as he pointed. “This… this is…”

Gavin caught Michael’s hand in his and held it still. “You don’t need to tell me now. You don’t need to tell me ever, it’s all right.”

“I want to. But it’s, uh. It’s difficult.”

“Okay.” He still held Michael’s hand, grip firm. “Tell me later.”

Sighing hard, Michael nodded. “Yeah. Later.”

Silently, they watched as the rest of the tattoo filled in. The line opened into a wide ribbon that looped before narrowing again. Branches jutted out of the line, and as each showed up, Michael’s face pulled tighter.

At the end, the line abruptly ended in a swirl that looked like a vortex, dark and foreboding just under Michael’s elbow. Michael folded his hand over it, laying back and shutting his eyes again. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime though.”

Gavin nodded mutely, watching Michael laid there. His hands ached slightly, like he’d leeched the pain away from Michael and left him in relief. It was a nice idea, and Gavin smiled, laying down next to Michael and shutting his eyes.

 

* * *

 

**4\. San Francisco, California, USA**

Michael spent a lot of time managing his stress levels. It was important for him to keep an even keel and hold onto his temper. His last really bad lapse almost took out a city block in Manhattan. It was rough having an affinity for rage and needing to control that. The power he felt when he channeled his anger was intoxicating, and it was always just simmering, waiting for his attention.

So he had little routines. Some were as simple as breathing exercises or long showers. A few were recipes, like a bread recipe with so many steps to it that he didn’t have the attention to be angry until it was in the oven. Things he could do with his hands were the most helpful.

There was also his monthly yoga appointment in San Francisco. He’d read a lot about human relaxation techniques, and something that used his body with precision was just the thing.

Ms. Gupta knew who he was, had known for a few years now, but the name “Mogar” never passed her lips, so he liked her immensely. She was a dark, stout woman who reminded Michael strongly of the combat instructors of his youth who moved liked Gupta, with a certainty of motion he envied. She was warm, but brusque, and never used five words when two would do.

Michael had been a little in love with her since she caught him cheating early in his lessons, using his ability to fly to avoid unbalancing in a scorpion pose. She’d shoved him over, told him if he wanted to learn a human art he would damn well respect it, and that had been that.

No tricks, just balance and following instruction. It was precisely what he needed to find the well of calm in himself.

What fucking possessed him to let Gavin tag along was beyond him. Maybe he thought it would be a bonding experience. Or that Gavin, under his miles of uncoordinated limbs, had some secret center of grace and patience. Whatever it was, he had been _wrong_ to such a degree he wanted to shrivel up and die on the gleaming wooden floors of the studio.

Gavin wasn’t a yoga practitioner. He didn’t look comfortable even in the most basic poses, and made shocked keening noises when Michael moved into the more complicated positions. A few, he watched demonstrated and made no move to try and attempt them, standing awkwardly at the front of the group next to Michael’s mat. He kept looking over at his bag where his phone was, and Michael grit his teeth. It annoyed Michael in a way he’d never been with Gavin ever before. Michael did yoga whenever he had time, usually twice a week, and Gavin always showed interest. Michael had thought it was more than appreciation of how he moved, but Gavin had a proud record of shallowness, or _aesthetic interest_ as he insistently called it.

Gupta walked past him as he stood on his hands and toes, trying to not wobble. Her hand pressed against the line of his spine and Gavin just _dropped_ with a yelp. “Christ, warn a bloke, maybe?” he groused.

Michael stood up, ready to leave because he could feel how badly his face was flushed, it was mortifying and he’d made a mistake, obviously. Gupta pointed to him. “You, arch. You,” she looked at Gavin and held up her hands in a placating gesture.

“Can you not touch me?” Gavin asked.

“I was correcting your stance.”

“You could have said first.” When Gupta sighed, the quietest sigh, and Gavin scrambled up to his feet. “Look, I’m just going to go.”

“Gav,” Michael called as Gavin padded over to his shoes and bag.

Gupta cut Michael off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Let him. Best for him and for the class. Thank you for coming,” she told Gavin, who nodded without a word, awkwardly towering over everyone else in the room before tugging his phone out of his bag and leaving, attention already on its screen.

In his wake, Gupta guided everyone into a cobra pose for a while, standing at Michael’s side. She spoke, softly, and there was a thickness to the words. Not English anymore, maybe Punjabi, but Michael understood it all the same. “Take him to beginner classes first, if he’s interested.”

“I’m really sorry,” Michael said.

“You tried to mix two things that bring you peace. Not everything is peanut butter and chocolate.”

A laugh startled out of Michael. “Right. Still, sorry.”

She nodded and walked to the next student. Gupta didn’t bring it up for the rest of the lesson and let him leave with nothing more than a wry look. He felt chastised, but the calm he was always searching for was there when he reached for it.

It helped when he found Gavin standing against the wall outside the studio, his sour expression half hidden by his iPhone as he glared at it. “Ready, then?”

“You okay?” Michael asked.

“Toppy tips. Can we grab lunch? Or can you not eat after yoga or something?”

“Gavin.”

“Oh, don’t. I know you’re upset, I could bloody well feel it,” Gavin said, frowning at his feet. “I bollixed the whole thing up, I know.”

“You’re not into yoga. You didn’t feel comfortable. That’s fine.” Michael set his bag down and put his arms around Gavin, holding him to his chest and tucking Gavin’s head under his chin. Gavin stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and swayed into Michael.

“Well, you’re all full of sunshine and good will, aren’t you?” His arms went around Michael. “You’re floating again. Someone will see.”

“Mm.” He held on a moment longer, his muscles warm and relaxed from his session, the feeling of Gavin solid in his arms somehow better than ever. “Just a minute. Then we’ll grab some food.”

Gavin nodded, his soft hair rubbing Michael’s chin, the smell of mint and coconut strong. It melded with the salt air coming off the ocean, and Michael grinned and said, “How about the beach?”

* * *

A wince flashed quickly over Gavin’s face and he rubbed the front of his wetsuit, where Michael could see the bulge of the pendant under the insulated material that hugged tight to Gavin’s skin. “You sure you want to leave that on?”

Gavin nodded. “Yes, I am. How else will you find me if I’m kidnapped by dolphins?”

“I’ll probably just ask them to give you back.”

“The fact you can talk to dolphins is one of the more ridiculous things about you, love,” Gavin told him gravely, fidgeting with his zipper more. “We had to pick the cold ocean, not the warm one. We still need to go to the Keys.”

“We will. Come on.” Michael held out both hands for Gavin to take. Gavin stood on Michael’s feet and held still as Michael drifted over the water, searching for the right depth. “Sure you don’t want to wade in like a regular person?”

“Nah, best to get the initial shock over and done with. On the count of-- _Michael_!” He shrieked as Michael let him go and he fell into the water, flailing all the way down. The water was clear enough Michael could watch over him, hovering just a few feet up as Gavin resurfaced, making upset bird noises as he bounced around. “You _bastard_!”

Michael grinned, twisting in the air to ‘lay’ on his stomach. Gavin glared up at him and tried to haul him down, pulling at his arms. Michael didn’t budge and watched with a cool expression for a moment before bursting into laughter.

Eventually, Gavin gave up on that and just enjoyed splashing around, feet paddling in the middle of the water as he held himself aloft. “This is bloody _strange_ ,” he snickered. “Can you lift me up high and drop me in, you think?”

“Not that high.” Michael fisted a hand in the wetsuit, pulling Gavin up. “That shit’ll hurt. I can swing you, though.”

“Ooh, let’s do that!”

Normally Michael would worry about flying around so cavalierly, but it was a nice private piece of beach. The California coastline was dotted with enough palatial expensive homes that it hadn’t been too hard to find an unoccupied one. The inside of this one had been set up like a showroom and there’d been a _For Sale_ sign, so they’d borrowed its bit of ocean, setting up with an umbrella and two coolers and towels. The closest sign of life was a boat in the far distance, but so far off that Michael wasn’t worried about it.

Instead, he tossed his boyfriend around like a skipping stone, careful to not harm him, but still playing rough. Gavin hooted and cheered each time, vanishing below the waves to resurface and reach for Michael’s hand again and again. He did backflips, feet braced on Michael’s knees, finally showing a semblance of grace. After a while, Gavin tired, out of breath, and Michael held him curled on his lap and dropped from the sky, tucked into a cannonball with Gavin safe in his embrace.

They stopped for a while to eat and lay in the sun, Gavin unzipping his suit to his hips to tan. They had sandwiches, chicken salad and celery and grapes mixed into a delicious mush, and Gavin talked about Griffon’s latest phone call.

“CalTech is super prestigious and stuff, but I said no.” Gavin took a swig of lemonade. “As if I’m fit to give a bloody lecture.”

“You’re not even going to humor them?” Michael asked mildly.

“Nah, fuck ‘em. Anyway, they sent the invitation to some _Doctor Ramsey-Free_ bloke. Dunno him, bet he’s a tosser anyway.” He shrugged, sticking his bottle into the sand and twisting it in like a screw. “Griffon says I need to go out into the world at some point, but I don’t know. I don’t think teaching’s the thing.”

That Gavin was acknowledging anything other than their endless world tour was strange. Often when he blew off invitations like that, there was no further thought spent on it. Michael smiled, finding the idea of Gavin sharing some of his rare consideration with anyone but his family sweet.

Also, the idea of Gavin in a tweed jacket with the elbow patches that every professor on TV wore was funny.

Gavin dozed in the sunlight for a while, but when he came back awake, it was all at once. “Can we go diving, then?”

“Diving? You don’t have any equipment.”

“But you can fly through water, right? I can hold my breath and tap you when I need air, yeah?”

There were probably some really good reasons why that was a bad idea, but Michael was looking into the very eager, cheerful face of Gavin Ramsey-Free and Michael could stare down entire armies at the Bifrost gates before he could say no to that face.

They swam much further out, and Michael’s attention was humming through the beacon under Gavin’s wetsuit, where it pulsed steadily. He wanted to know where Gavin was by touch and through the Bifrost’s pull. Gavin was wrapped around him, pulling goggles on one-handed.

“How long can you hold your breath for?”

“Dunno,” Gavin said brightly, snapping the strap against his head and pressing in against Michael tightly. “We’ll find out.”

“Well, find out now, just take a breath and--”

“Michael, I will do this,” he dug his heel into the inside of Michael’s thigh, “when I need to come up, okay? We’ll be fine, live a little.”

This far out, the water was much colder. That was the first thing Michael noticed as he bobbed for a second before sinking into the water, soaring through the ocean without even kicking his legs. The chill around them was stronger, and Gavin squeezed Michael. It didn’t take long before Michael’s body temperature ticked up without any conscious decision on his part.

The first dive was slow and easy, a test of Gavin’s lungs. As soon as Michael felt the pressure against his leg, he resurfaced.

Gavin took a gasp of air. “Ha, see! It’s fine. Just gimme a sec.”

“All the time you need,” Michael said, floating.

They tried a few more times before Gavin realized they’d need a light to see anything so far under the water. “That way, then,” he commanded, pointing a little closer to the shore.

“My liege,” Michael intoned before diving that way.

They were just above the sand, looking at all the tiny fish and stingrays as Michael drove them towards land. He intended it to be the last dive, nervous about Gavin even with the man plastered securely to his back.

As soon as his head broke water, Gavin said, “Don’t move! Can you not move?”

“Yeah, why?”

Gavin climbed off Michael, holding him as he swung around to Michael’s front. He was grinning. “Okay, right here. Can you lower us right down to the sand?”

That was easy. Michael put his hands on Gavin’s hips and dropped like a stone, straight down into the water. When they reached the bottom, Gavin kicked a bit, twisted to dig at the sand there. Something came free and he tapped Michael’s leg urgently. Picking him up, he brought them back up and bent his legs, pulling Gavin to sit on his lap. “What is it?”

“Hang on a tic, hang on.” Pushing his goggles up into his hair, he dunked his find in and out of the water a few times, shifting the detritus away and picking off a bit of seaweed. “What are _you_ doing out here, lovely thing?” he cooed as he held up his prize.

It was a shell of some kind, covered in long brittle spines, swirled with vivid orange and red colors. It looked very delicate, and Gavin held it like it was, spaced carefully between his fingers. “What is it?”

“Dunno. I’ll ask the internet once I get back to my tablet. It’s gorgeous though, isn’t it?” He turned it over and peered inside. “No one living in it, so I think we can take it. Lovely little souvenir.”

Michael hummed, putting his arms around Gavin and taking them back to shore. Gavin was quiet for the short flight and as Michael lowered him right onto the towel, skipping the whole trudge through the sand. Gavin kept a hold of Michael’s shoulders, urging him down onto the towel with him. There wasn’t really enough room for two and shifting around kicked enough sand onto them it sort of ruined the purpose of avoiding the walk up the beach, but Gavin was demanding and Michael was ever willing.

Careful to set the shell aside first, Gavin pulled Michael in by his hair, face open and bright with a blinding grin. “Thank you for that.” He kissed him, warm and tasting of salt and lemons. Michael felt his whole body warm even more under the attention and dragged his hand up and down Gavin’s back, wishing there was a gap in the wetsuit to slip his hand in so he could touch skin.

Gavin pulled back, kissed Michael’s nose, still smiling. “God, I love you,” he breathed.

It was a dumb thing, but Michael shut his eyes and kissed Gavin again, harder and a little desperate. Gavin had said it before, of course, but never like this. Never out of the blue, never in response to nothing. Five seconds ago, Michael would have said that was fine, but now it echoed through him, wonderful and intimate. It wasn’t something he needed but fuck, it was nice to hear like that.

Michael kissed down Gavin’s neck, murmuring it back to him like a prayer, _I love you I love you_ until he was caught up by the collar of the wetsuit. He let out a frustrated noise and Gavin laughed, his long, talented fingers working the zipper free and dragging it down. “Really going to do this?”

“Only if you want,” Michael hastened to assure Gavin, hands squeezing his hips as Gavin let himself fall back on the towel. “Gonna get sand fucking everywhere.”

“Well,” Gavin said with a wry lift to his eyebrows. “When I said I wanted sex on the beach, I _meant_ the drink, but this works too. Help me out of this, will you?”

 

* * *

 

**5\. Amsterdam, the Netherlands**

They did Amsterdam differently, though neither could say why. It just so happened that when they got into the Netherlands, it wasn't a hotel that they booked but a flat: almost an entire floor converted into a living space across the canal from one of the busy, fairly posh streets that reminded Gavin of Downtown Austin, but with much more Northern European charm: colorful houses and brickfront shops with painted glass signs and a strong smell of coffee and bread in the early morning and late afternoon.

The flat itself was someone's summer home, but in the middle of December it was easy to buy the place for two weeks. It was longer than their usual pit stops, but Gavin was quietly glad. He loved traveling with Michael, but having a little time to mess a place up had become a weird luxury he was craving. He looked forward to leaving for the day and not returning to see every sign of his existence erased by a housekeeper.

When they were picking a place, Michael only asked for a kitchen, and Gavin made sure there was a full set up for him to play with. As soon as their bags were dropped in the room, Michael headed right back out and returned with groceries. “I’m going to make stuffed peppers. You want mild or spicy sausage?”

They made plans, as usual. There were museums and galleries and restaurants. Gavin read aloud the highlights of the tourism websites he found and Michael nodded along as he mixed rice and sausage and egg. "The museums sound good, and we can find some quieter restaurants."

Quiet. Quiet was the feeling that hung over them. A year and a half in each other's company hadn't exhausted Gavin of Michael, but it did feel like time to move out of their honeymoon phase. Something in him curled up in a warm ball and purred over the simplicity of sitting on the sofa with his feet in Michael's lap, eating something homemade and watching Netflix.

In the morning, Michael made breakfast, standing in his shorts with a spatula in hand while Gavin walked around in flannels and darted from rug to rug, avoiding the cold bite of the hardwood floors. That morning slid lazily into an early afternoon, and neither of them got dressed. Michael couldn't seem to detach himself from the kitchen, making an endless stream of goodies appear from his short grocery trip until Gavin thought it was some inherent magic to him, like flight and lightning and the star field of freckles that were scattered across his collarbones.

They went out for dinner, and every second they were dressed up seemed like too long for Gavin. The food was decent, if weird, but Michael ordered for him, having had Dutch food before and knowing what Gavin would like. They talked more about plans for their stay, vaguities without concrete details.

As far as Gavin was concerned, they couldn’t get back to the flat soon enough. He stripped out of his clothes, casting them onto the floor. Michael was just as desperate and lifted Gavin onto the kitchen island, kissing down his stomach with nips and bites before sucking Gavin off, ruthlessly fast. After, Gavin pushed Michael up against the wall, working at him with both hands in Michael’s trousers and breathing soft encouragement into his temple until he unraveled.

They did it all again, slower, and once more for good measure, testing the sturdiness of the bed and their own stamina until they fell against the sheets and each other, worn and ready for sleep.

* * *

“So now Geoff’s asking me about the things,” Gavin said as he and Michael walked along one of the canals near their flat. There were tons of the things, as functional as roads, leading down different streets. They passed people in little boats, cutting through the water and shattering the mirror of the reflective surface, casting light into shivering ripples with their passing. Gavin was so distracted by the sight, he missed what Michael said. “Sorry?”

“What things?” Michael asked, obviously repeating himself.

“When I’m coming home, if I’m ever going to sort through my hundreds of emails. When they’ll actually see me not through a video chat.” He tucked his hands into the deep pockets of his black wool jacket, his elbow poking into Michael. Michael worked his arm through Gavin’s without comment.

“Do you want to? It’s been almost two years.”

“I dunno. It’s strange to think of it as a homecoming now…” He looked askance at Michael. “Where’s your home, d’you think? Where do you think of?”

“Where’s my home?” Michael met Gavin’s eyes, the amber brightening suddenly, and the smile he gave Gavin was decadent and slow, like melted chocolate. The heat of it ran up his spine, spreading through Gavin’s body, a warm flush reaching his neck and rolling over his skin in waves.

“Shut up,” Gavin said, because it was almost too much. Almost.

“You asked.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Fine, where’s your home, asshole? You have a better answer?”

That was the point; Gavin couldn’t think of one. He’d lived in Oxfordshire and shared a dorm with Dan and had his room at the ranch and his _lab_ , his beautiful lab he’d not seen since the Extremis people had torn through it. He’d been to every continent now, remembered every city and room they’d stayed in with the vividness of a glossy postcard. None of them were what came to mind with _home_.

The question hung in the air, a cloud of condensation exhaled from Michael lips, and it was left behind as they kept walking and Gavin took too long to answer. Michael didn’t push, just tucked his hand into Gavin’s pockets, pressed in with his hand in the fleece-lined space.

“I used to really hate the cold,” Gavin said, apropos of nothing. “I grew up in bloody England, it was always rain and cold and ten days of sunlight in the summer, then back to overcast.” He looked around, and the day was cloudy and cold enough to threaten a good snow, but, “I don’t think I mind it so much now.”

“No?”

“No.” He smiled at Michael. “Or maybe that’s your boozy cocoa recipe talking.”

“You only love me because I can cook,” Michael accused lightly.

“Oh, I love you for more than that. I mean, you can fly, that’s useful,” Gavin replied, squeezing the hand that had worked its way into his. “But I could really use one of those, seriously. It’s nip out here, innit?”

“You should’ve brought your scarf.”

“My scarf’s crap for actual cold, I bought it because I looked good in it.” Michael snorted at that, shaking his head. “Don’t I?”

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t use it,” Michael said. “Want to shortcut back?”

Shortcut meant flying, and Gavin found himself shaking his head. “No. No, let’s walk. There’s no rush.” He blew out a long breath, watching it dissipate in front of him. “Cold’s nice. And it’s good to keep your options open.”

* * *

Two weeks passed so much faster than Gavin expected. In a way, it felt like their trip in Amsterdam was over faster than their shorter trips. The day before, he’d sat at a little round table and trapped Michael’s foot between his, playing with no tablecloth to shield. They’d had tapas and beef stew with a broth so delicious Gavin had almost wanted extra bread to soak it up with, if only the texture wouldn’t put him off. They’d gotten back late and watched half of Edgar Wright’s latest before going to bed.

And Gavin woke up to Michael having tidied up already. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, folding and rolling up clothes to fit into one of their bags.

It didn’t seem fair. To him, it felt like they’d just arrived. They’d not gone anywhere yet, they hadn’t-- Gavin hadn’t had time yet to do anything, it felt like, and the idea of letting go already stung him. He didn’t want to fly off yet, for once wanted to keep his feet on the ground and just… do what people did when they weren’t flying from place to place like a Stones tour.

“Hey, you’re up,” Michael said when he saw Gavin sitting up. “Want anything? We can get some food later on the way, but I can make you something first if you like.”

“No, that’s-- I’m fine.”

“Okay. I wanna stop by the bakery again before we leave and get another rosemary focaccia for the trip.”

Gavin slumped back down onto the bed, drawing his knees up to block his view of Michael and the fucking half-packed bags that would soon be packed bags. If he couldn’t see them, maybe they couldn’t fill him with a yawning expanse of regret. It could just be him and the pillows hiding behind his knees. He’d figure out how to stop feeling so out of sorts and get on with life, the routine they had done so many times before.

“Gavin? Gav. _Gav_.” Michael peered over Gavin’s knees. “What’s wrong, why are you scared?”

“What? I’m not. Fuck off.” Gavin sunk further down the bed, lifting his knees further until he was in a little cave of blankets.

“Gavin, hey, come on. What is it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_ , just--”

“Can we stay?” Gavin asked before he could stop himself.

“Stay?” Michael nudged Gavin’s legs down. “You want to stay here?”

“Not forever. But can we stay longer? We didn’t really get to do anything and this flat’s really lovely and I-- I think I want to stay a bit longer?” He was committed now, babbling on as Michael’s careful gaze lingered on his face. “Can we stay?”

“Yeah. We can stay. I told you, I don’t care where I am, as long as--”

It was too much to hear right then, because even if Gavin made fun of Michael for it, he envied Michael’s surety and how he grounded himself. Being his anchor was wonderful but sometimes it was too intense. So, Gavin said, “A month. Can we do a month? Is that too long?”

Michael shook his head, and Gavin’s heart sank, thinking that was a _no_ , not a, “No, that’s not too long. A month’s fine. Can you handle it with the owners?”

“Yeah, I’ll call them. In a sec.” Gavin didn’t move, just working on catching his breath. There was a feeling like a whiplash running through him, sharp and almost nauseating as his heartbeat gradually slowed back down. A minor freak-out was not how he’d planned to start his day. He had so desperately not wanted to leave, and so they weren’t. Still, it wasn’t easy to come down from the sticky chill the initial wave of heavy panic left him with. Especially not when Michael was still worriedly watching him.

Gavin swallowed down the words that were trying to claw out of his throat and instead kicked the bag Michael had been packing off the bed so it spilled all over the floor. “Oops.”

Michael snorted, smiling. “Okay,” he murmured, quiet and knowing, but left Gavin to clean the mess and unpack again.

Rolling onto his side, Gavin pulled in Michael’s pillow to curl around it, shutting his eyes. He would call the people about keeping the flat for longer, but for now he wanted to relax into this bed that was almost theirs. He stretched out his legs, starfishing to take up as much of the cool sheets as he could, and took a deep breath that felt like his first in a long time.

* * *

Living with Michael might’ve been even better than traveling with him. It was certainly more surprising.

While the two of them weren't on any sort of schedule as they moved from place to place, with no itinerary beyond immediate whim, there was an exception: Michael had monthly yoga sessions in San Francisco. They were apparently the latest in a long line of tactics Michael had tried and discarded as he sought out some sort of control of his quick temper. Over the past year and a half, Gavin had gotten used to the way they would detour to North America once a month or how Michael would leave Gavin to a hotel room to circumnavigate the globe to make his regular session.

This time, the day for his yoga session came and went, and Michael showed no sign of gearing up for a long flight. Instead, he made omelets in the morning before pulling on his jacket and said, "Nice day for a walk."

"It's below freezing," Gavin countered. He was still in bed, propped up by pillows with his tablet on his lap as he sorted through emails, the ones from people he cared about. Someone had requested a design consult, and Gavin was surprised to find himself actually wanting to do it. He drew notes onto the brief, and it was the first time in a long while he’d seen his electric blue sketch lines. He’d missed them, and was carefully relearning his own style as he lay bundled under the covers.

"Suit yourself," Michael said, heading out on his own.

Gavin finished his bit of work and fired it back off before having another slice of quiche and puttering around the flat for a while. Digging out slipper socks helped against the cold, and he elected to just make tea rather than dial up the heat. There was something indulgent and lovely about a chilly house when you were under blankets, and the duvet at the window seat was calling to him.

By the time he was adding milk to his tea, Michael returned from his outing, tossing a bag onto the kitchen island before working to get his winter boots off.

Curiosity had Gavin wandering over to investigate. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to the bundles of colorful wool that spilled out of the bag.

Michael stopped with one boot still on, turning. He bent down over the island, leaning in close and tilting his head from side to side. Carefully, he picked one bundle up, turning it over and over in his hands. Then, he dropped it unceremoniously. "Yarn."

"You're a tit."

"You asked."

Gavin rolled his eyes and took his tea to the window seat, refusing to play along and press Michael for more information. Michael wanted yarn, it was no business of Gavin’s.

Or, it was, to the same extent all things about Michael were Gavin’s business, and vice versa. But Gavin could wait until Michael was ready to share.

Setting his mug carefully on the cushion against the glass, Gavin watched out the window as Amsterdam bustled around, people doing their shopping and having lunch outside the bakery across the street and canal, dressed up like walking marshmallows in puffy pastel coats and others who wore flannel shirts with the sleeves up. Bloody locals and their thick blooded imperviousness.

Steam set into the glass, spreading up from his tea, and Gavin wiped it away a few times to renew his view. Eventually, he let the fog fill his vision and turned the other way instead.

Michael had the TV on across the room, ambient noise buzzing through the empty spaces of the house, but his gaze was on his hands. Loops of seafoam blue and dark violet yarn were hooked through his fingers and around one wrist in what looked to Gavin like a tangled mess. The yarn moved easily through his hands as he worked two wooden needles, turning the loose material into a neat binding.

“You knit,” Gavin pointed out from across the room.

“It’s calming,” Michael said, the corner of his mouth tipping up. He didn’t say anything more about it and while Gavin wanted to know where he’d learned-- or, fucking hell, _if_ he’d learned or if it was just another weird talent he was hardwired for-- but it was easier to look back to the now-opaque window and watch the flare of street lamps coming on.

When he next turned back, it was to Michael cutting thick grilled cheese sandwiches in half, a pot of tomato soup already ready at the island. Gavin emerged from the window seat to climb onto one of the kitchen stools, accepting a bowl when Michael slid it over to him.

“What, no sprig of basil floating on top? No homemade croutons?”

“Croutons are just over-seasoned stale bread. Don’t be an ungrateful shit,” Michael said, tucking into his own food. He smiled when Gavin poked him with a toe. “Have a nice nap?”

“I was awake. Just thinking.”

“About?”

Bluff called. “Nothing. I wasn’t thinking. Just… I dunno.”

“Wanna finish that movie tonight?”

Gavin nodded, and they lapsed back into silence. It wasn’t strained like some silences could be, and Gavin let it cover them softly like the snow outside was covering the city, a blanket of white noise building up around them.

Michael finished eating first and immediately got up, walking to the living room area. He came back with his knitting needles held in one hand, his work hanging from them. “Hold still,” he said, and wrapped the fuzzy soft cloth around Gavin’s neck. It was a scarf, that much was clear, and the blue and purple yarn had been knitted into zigzags. On one side, it was mostly purple with stripes of blue, the opposite on the reverse.

“Another ten rows should work,” Michael said. “Do you want it longer than that?”

“Ooh, is it for me?” Gavin looked it over with renewed interest. It was very nice and actually warm. It’d be a lot more functional than the posh scarf he already had.

“So you’ll come out with me, yeah.” Michael tugged the scarf away. “I’ll have it done by tonight. Tomorrow we’re doing a museum crawl.”

“You can have pub crawls and bar crawls. Dunno about museum crawls.”

Michael ignored this wisdom, heading to the sofa and settling into his knitting again. “Make sure you put water in the soup bowls so they come clean later.”

Gavin smiled through the rest of his meal, looking forward to curling up with Michael and watching him work.

* * *

Gavin wasn’t someone who was ever taught how to do the things he did. There was no degree program for the wide array of talents that he had. There wasn’t a word for what he did. _Designer_ didn’t begin to cover it. Michael sometimes called him an _artisan_ , and that might’ve been closer. But Gavin created most of the Iron Man prosthesis before he cracked a book on engineering or robotics. Every idea he had felt like an accident, and he had as many useless ones as he did decent ones. It was mostly Griffon who figured out which ones were possible and which were fantasies.

Sometimes, Gavin thought he created things purely out of spite. If someone said a project was scrapped or a concept was impossible, Gavin burned to prove them wrong. He liked to do it, because he stumbled into things, made them seem _easy_. He let people think he was scatterbrained and a bit dim because it just made it all the sweeter when he was _better_ than them.

Gifts, though. They couldn’t come from a place like that. And that made the work so much harder.

Michael had made Gavin a scarf, utilitarian but lovely. Gavin wanted to give him something in return. Something other than the gift of listening to him and actually getting dressed to go out into the city with him (though Gavin didn’t think Michael appreciated that effort enough).

He wanted to make Michael something useful. Really, the only thing you could give Michael was something useful; he travelled light and didn’t have many possessions. Immediately, Gavin’s mind leapt to the jacket Michael had lost in Osaka, thought about replacing it.

But Gavin was gifted in many ways, but not really in fashion. Griffon had hand-stitched Michael’s old jacket with its lightning bolt flairs. Gavin, left to his own devices, designed the garish Union Jack paintjob.

He spent days thinking about what to do, sketching ideas and deleting them as soon as they took shape. It was frustrating and he probably snapped irritably at Michael a few times as he tried to show interest in Gavin’s projects. Which made him about the worst boyfriend in the world.

Utility. Something small. Wouldn’t have to be carried. Something Gavin could make.

It came to him at about the worst time. In the morning, when Michael happened to be a little indulgent, a little lazy, and stayed in bed for a while. He watched as Gavin frowned at the line of sunlight crossing the bed and running over his face, sulking at it. “Bloody middle of January, it shouldn’t be so sunny in Europe, it’s unnatural.”

Michael chuckled and shifted so his shoulder was blocking the light for Gavin. Smiling, Gavin leaned into him. “Aren’t you a lovely boy today?”

“I try,” Michael agreed, voice hushed. He curled over Gavin, carrying the motion on until he was propped over him.

He was very touchable like that, and Gavin was always a little amazed he was allowed. He palmed Michael’s ribs, pressed the heel of his hands into Michael’s chest until he rolled onto his back.

It was a strange moment to get distracted, but when Gavin pressed Michael’s wrists into the mattress and Michael couldn’t keep from smiling, the idea hit Gavin. “Oh, oh, oh, I got it! Bollocks, where’s my tablet?”

“What? Wait, what? Gav.” When Gavin scurried off Michael to the other side of the bed, Michael followed, wrapped an arm around Gavin’s waist. “Gavin.”

“One sec, I need to get this down before I lose it.” He opened his sketchpad program and started writing notes with a finger, a few basic parameters, then started to draw the shape of the thing in the center.

Michael let out a low whinge, kissing down Gavin’s back and leaving mean little nips down his skin as Gavin hurried to get the information he needed down. It was difficult to focus with Michael doing that, though. When his pajama pants were pulled down and Michael bit the curve of his arse, Gavin cursed and accidentally left a wide dark mark on his sketch. “Michael, do you _have_ to ravish me now?”

The answer was a low, intent growl, and Michael gripped Gavin’s hips and dragged him back. Gavin fumbled the tablet with a yelp as he was drawn under the covers and against Michael. So close, he could feel the giggles bubbling in Michael’s chest against his back and couldn’t help laughing too, “Oh for god’s sake…”

“Ravishing, huh,” Michael said into his neck, sucking at a spot just under Gavin’s ear. “Making you come three times in a night, that’s not ravishing?”

Gavin laughed and tipped his head back against Michael’s shoulder. “No, it’s… competent.”

“Competent?”

Gavin nodded. “Sufficient.”

“I am going… you are just…”

Gavin turned his head to grin at Michael. “What? Come on, love.”

Michael pushed him over, lowering himself down against Gavin and pressing him flush against the sheets. “Nevermind.” He dragged his mouth against Gavin’s shoulder, biting down gently. “I’ll just show you.”

* * *

It’d taken a few hours for Michael to prove his understanding of _ravishment_ , and Gavin had desperately needed a nap afterward. Michael’d been cheery about it, though, like as if he’d gotten a shot of energy, and gone out to pick up more groceries, whistling low and sweet as he went. Gavin had distantly hoped that Michael didn’t forget himself and literally float along. It’d attract attention from the locals.

They had pasta that night, with meatballs and thick tomato-garlic-pepper sauce. It’d been the perfect thing to refuel on. Michael had nudged his toes up the leg of Gavin’s trousers idly as Gavin has typed out an email to Griffon. When he’d tried to look at the message, Gavin quickly stole his breadstick, diverting his attention.

He would see what it was about later.

Gavin asked Griffon for a lot of thing: the finest leather she had to spare, some steel wiring and a suitable needle, the mesh they used in lightweight armors, and some D rings made from the new Austinion-Adamantium compound RE had just put on the market. It’d taken a long time for the Austinion to be ready again after Griffon had destroyed the only source of it, but it was finally out of metal testing. Which was good as it’d be perfect for what Gavin had in mind.

Gavin got a box full of goodies from Austin two days later. Griffon had thrown in a few extras, like a good pair of metalwork gloves, other basic tools he forgot to ask for, and a tin of his favorite oolong. He thought briefly about hiding his little project from Michael, but they were living in each other’s pockets in a flat that was mostly an open floor plan. There wasn’t many hiding spots.

So when Michael found Gavin at the kitchen table with most of the surface covered his project, Gavin was briefly nervous.

“What’s that?” Michael asked.

Gavin looked up, then back to the table full of various equipment and materials. “Steel wire. Some suede and leather. Metal.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Stuff.”

Michael smiled and nodded. “Okay. Tapas tonight?” And that had been that.

* * *

More than anything, Gavin was damned if he wasn’t going to finish his work before they left Amsterdam.

He wasn’t terribly short on time, but it sometimes felt like it when he was sat at the table with the bulky protective gloves on, working the narrow point of the needle through three different durable materials without breaking it or damaging the leather or shifting them out of alignment.

Everything had to be very precise because Gavin had been taught to do things only one way, as frustrating as that was. There wasn’t a lot of room for error with his limited supplies, so he was careful. He remeasured the circumference of Michael’s wrists every night with the span of his fingers and fretted over every stitch he made.

He wanted it to be perfect, and to make it with his own two hands like Michael had made Gavin’s scarf. It was slow work, and by the end of the evening, Gavin gave in a bit and called Michael over when he needed a third hand.

“Want me to help?” Michael asked, and Gavin hissed and brandished his needle at him until he backed off.

If Gavin had learned anything from his adoptive parents, it was their stubbornness.

He didn’t have any illusions about Michael knowing though. When the basic shape of the gift came together, Gavin brought it over to him and said, “Close your eyes,” before wrapping them around his wrists, taking some measurements, and whisking them away again.

“Almost done?” Michael asked.

“With what?” Gavin replied, settling back in at the table to continue working at it.

By the time the end of their stay in Amsterdam was looming again, Gavin had the basics done and was debating what flair to add to it. He took his tablet with its sketches with him everywhere for two solid days. He wanted to settle in at a coffee shop to work out the problem, but very quickly learned that “coffee shop” meant a _very_ different thing in Amsterdam and retreated to the bistro that had become his and Michael’s regular dinner place instead.

Michael had replaced his old jacket with a worn, brown bomber jacket he’d found in a shop the next week, deciding if it was enough to look natural in cold weather when humans expected him to wear more, it would be fine.

Gavin could remember… god, five years ago, when he met Michael and he was still flying around in Mogar’s armor, regal and flashy with a fucking _cape_. Today, Gavin thought Michael would go naked before putting up with a cape. Subtle accents were his thing now. Anything useful that he could walk around in and remain incognito.

Gavin figured it out over espresso and almond cookies, stumbled onto the stitching that would be nice to see up close but almost invisible from afar. Taking it home, he used a pencil to lightly mark the shape into the grain of the leather and picked out his thread.

Once he knew what he was doing, it was really just adding details to a finished product and didn’t take terribly long. Michael was careful not to hover, and Gavin appreciated his restraint and admired it a little; in Michael’s shoes, he would be much nosier.

It was apparently yoga night for Michael, as he broke out his mat and nudged the sofa and bed aside to make a little room on the floor. It was an inspiring sight, Gavin thought as he put in the final stitches and watched.

When he was finished, he waited until Michael was in a less complicated pose before getting up and joining Michael on the floor. Instantly, Michael stopped and sat still, waiting for Gavin. When Gavin settled in, he held out a hand for Michael’s, and fastened one cuff on around his wrist, the buckle fitting perfectly against the soft inside.

“They’re leather. Suede on the inside. Some of the tough padding we use in our armors in the center. So they should withstand the same abuse you do. Unless you lose an arm again,” Gavin said, shrugging nonchalantly. Wordlessly, Michael offered up his other wrist and let Gavin buckle on the other one. The cuffs were a dark brown with lighter stitching, the suggestion of stars with long, interlocking trails in the detail work. Set into each was a D ring that folded against the leather until Gavin hooked his fingers in them and tugged, testing their hold. “These are the new metal Griffon’s been working with, so you _could_ break them but you should just as easily, you know. Avoid it.”

He chanced looking up at Michael, and caught him smiling back, lips lips curving softly. Gavin let go, rubbing his neck with one hand, feeling the flush of his skin against his palm. “I mean, they’re not an alien artifact I can use to locate you around the world, but--”

“Thank you,” Michael said, bowing his head until his forehead was against Gavin’s. “They feel really smooth.”

“That’s the suede lining, it’s… nice.” Gavin caught the ring of one of the cuffs again, holding on with one curled finger. Michael looked down at their hands, then back at Gavin, his smile widening.

“Those are nice too. Are they just for show?”

Gavin shook his head, biting his lip. He’d built them in to be subtle, easily folded down so they wouldn’t catch on anything, but the rings were very well mounted and could hopefully-- “I thought you were a little… That you’d like that, maybe.” Funny how he could make what amounted to a pair of stylish bondage cuffs for his boyfriend, but couldn’t look Michael in the eyes as he explained them.

Michael leaned in and nudged Gavin’s face back up with his nose, breathing close and quiet and fitting their mouths together with a simple, slight turn of his head. Gavin was still loosely holding one cuff, but Michael lifted his free hand up and dragged his fingers through Gavin’s hair, gripping hard. Every time Gavin thought about cutting it, Michael did that, pulling him around by it and making Gavin’s eyes squeeze shut against the feeling, gasping faintly.

Gavin carded his hand into Michael’s hair in return and surged up against him, biting his lower lip, listening to the hiss before dragging his tongue over the mark and into Michael’s inviting mouth, easy and open as they held onto each other.

Michael’s hand let go of Gavin’s hair, smoothing it back from how he’d bunched it up in a needy grip. “So can we try these out?” he asked, tugging the hand Gavin had a hold on.

“Well, you’ll… likely break anything I tie you to in here, unfortunately.”

Michael shut his eyes, thinking. “Then… tie them together. Do you have a spare link?”

Gavin huffed out a laugh. “I may have thought of that, yes. Hold on.” He scrambled to his feet, walking on wobbly legs back to the table to grab the extra link, clicking it open on a hinge. “How do…”

Michael caught Gavin’s elbows as he returned, helping him fold back down onto the floor before putting his hands behind his back with quiet purpose. Nodding, Gavin got in close and reached behind Michael to hook his hands together. The metal clicked loudly as he tested the hold of the cuffs, a hot, pleased look passing over his face.

“Stop,” Gavin said sternly, cupping Michael face in his hands. “Are you going to break something I made for you?”

He could hear the catch in Michael’s breath as he nodded. “I won’t break it, I’m sorry.”

He wanted to say something witty or seductive there about punishing Michael or-- something, but the words didn’t come to him. Pulling Michael in, he brushed his lips against Michael’s face, ghosting over the freckles of his cheeks and his closed eyelids and the soft skin under his ear. When he leaned back to look, Michael’s eyes were half-shut, his mouth parted and so damn _soft_.

Holding onto Michael’s shoulders meant Gavin could feel every bunched and tensing muscle as he kissed him, slowly at first. Gavin traced the shape of Michael’s mouth with his tongue, then licking in with teasing swipes, but he felt the way Michael went taut underneath him, and it was too much to bear. Gavin pushed against him, kissing harder, teeth clicking once before MIchael just opened up for him, groaning and tipping his head up to Gavin’s mouth.

Michael ducked his head sharply, taking deep breaths and leaning against Gavin’s collar. Gavin could feel the sharp exhales this close and dragged his nails up through Michael’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “All right?” he whispered, and Michael nodded. After a long moment, Michael’s wet mouth skimmed up Gavin’s neck, working his way back and taking the next kiss given to him, eyes shut.

Gavin slowed down, unsure precisely what he was doing, but feeling the swell of warmth in him as he let Michael take more of his weight and kissed him. He startled a little as they shifted suddenly, Michael easing back under him. Nodding along with that excellent idea, Gavin helped, cradling his head tenderly and guiding Michael down, trying to use the same care Michael often did.

Gavin didn’t really know how to do… this, but he knew that when he laid his hand against Michael’s chest, Michael’s arms worked behind him, fidgeting, and he breathed hard. Touching more seemed like a good start. He ran his fingertips over Michael’s collarbone, as light as he could, and Michael’s body shook. Having that sort of power over him was a rush, an accelerant spreading heat over Gavin’s body like wild fire until he was scrambling to yank his jumper and shirt off, nearly getting stuck on a combination of nose and ear.

Tossing the shirt aside, Gavin ran a hand through his hair, taking a shaky breath. Michael watched steadily and met Gavin’s eyes, staring as he sat up slowly. He held that gaze until he couldn’t anymore, pressing his face against Gavin’s chest. Holding very still, Gavin let Michael kiss him there, if the open drag of lips across his chest could be called a kiss. It was oddly reverent in a way Gavin couldn’t stand for long, an overwhelming clawing _thing_ spreading through him. He held on as long as he could before it became too much and he pushed Michael down. He went pliantly onto his back again, lips bruised and wet as he panted quietly.

He was rather pretty like that, Gavin thought, dragging a finger down the center of his chest, then back up just to rub against the grain of his fuzz. Michael’s back arched, legs shifting restlessly, but he didn’t try to move, and Gavin felt like rewarding that.

The choked sound Michael gave when Gavin started to tug the drawstring of Michael’s yoga pants loose made Gavin grin, biting his lip. He hooked his fingers in the trousers and Michael’s briefs underneath and dragged them down over the bulge that was already pressing against them. He was coming out of his sheath, tendrils curling against the cool air as the tentacle stretched up, slick beading at the tip and running down the length.

Michael looked down at himself and turned his head away, against the mat, flushing high on his cheeks. He said something that sounded like a curse in his language as Gavin reached for him, tangling his fingers in the tendrils and squeezing them in a steady rhythm. Michael groaned long and low, almost subvocal, as Gavin rubbed and coaxed him fully out, his long tentacle wrapping around Gavin’s wrist with firm strength.

He thought he should say something, that Michael might like that, but Gavin’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth and the sight of Michael in such a state wasn’t helping. His hand was tight around Michael, stroking him steadily and spreading his slick, massaging it in until the slide of him against Gavin’s hand was smooth. Michael tipped his head back, breathing hard and staccato, his back arching as Gavin kept at him.

When Gavin took his hand away, Michael almost rolled up to sit, but Gavin was ready, planting a hand against him and putting him back down without fuss. Michael blinked, surprised, then looked chastised. “Sorry.”

“You’ll make it up to me,” Gavin promised him. He curled his hand around Michael’s tentacle, holding still and letting it work through his hand on its own. “Can you fuck me like this, you think?”

Michael thumped his head against the mat again, exhaling hard through his nose. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” Gavin was quick to get his trou and boxers off, swinging a leg over MIchael’s hips to straddle him. It was initially strange not to have Michael touching him, bracing him with steady hands. Instead, they were left with Gavin easing back against Michael, carefully sitting on his hips, worrying at his lower lip as he settled down without hurting any excited tendrils.

It took some shifting around to get it right. The point was to make Michael work for it, and Gavin resisted his urges to help too much, letting Michael cant his hips up, bend his knees and move until the angle would work. Gavin let his eyes flutter shut as Michael’s tendrils writhed against him, leaving streaks of slick as they dragged across his skin.

Reaching back, Gavin curled his hands under Michael’s legs, near his arse, mostly to help keep his balance but also to restrain himself. Michael had the benefit of the cuffs holding him, but Gavin’s fingers itched to grab and touch and move things along. He wanted it to be good for Michael though, and gripped Michael’s legs; if he bruised more easily, he’d have two odd ones the next day.

There was a strange look of dazed concentration on Michael’s face as he focused. Soon, his tentacle rubbed up the cleft of Gavin’s arse, and Gavin let his head hang, shuddering as he felt pinned down himself, just waiting to be fucked.

Michael went slow, easing into Gavin with more care than really needed, but feeling the hot slick work into him was enough to make Gavin’s toes curl, hips jerking. It nudged in and out of him gradually before pushing further, stretching him wider as it went.

He gasped, the heat of it and the lush feeling breaking his composure as he pushed back against Michael to take more, eyes pinching shut. It was always like this, just in his control until it abruptly wasn’t, making him shake and cry out. There was nothing else like this, and it never stopped taking him apart.

He used his grip on Michael’s legs to push back, flush against Michael’s hips, mumbling incoherently, “Oh, ooh _fuck_ , I-- _fuck_ ,” as he took the length of him. He felt so full he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand anything else either, and he rocked back and forth as Michael fucked into him relentlessly and without finesse.

Gavin opened his eyes and saw Michael staring at him, mesmerized, and it just made it worse or better or _something_. He braced a hand on Michael’s stomach, his other on Michael’s knee and rode him hard, the sound wet and obscene and the sensation even _better_ , and they both worked towards it, rapidly tipping over into desperation.

It was the sound of Michael’s cuffs clicking that startled it out of him between one breath and the next, Gavin coming like that, pushed back on Michael and almost crying for it. He felt the rush of heat in him as Michael came and for a moment couldn’t stop, the tense, sweet release seizing him and drowning him in it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Michael grunted and pulled out of Gavin. He rolled, tipping them over until Gavin flumped onto his side, shuddering, and said, “Unhook me, Gavin, _Gav_.”

The hinge on the link was a simple one, but Gavin was not the most coordinated person post-orgasm. It took a moment to fumble his hand to Michael’s cuffs and click it open.

As soon as he did, Michael’s arms folded around him, drawing him in tight. Gavin pressed his cheek to Michael’s collarbone and drank in every touch, the feeling of one hand petting up and down his spine. “Bloody _Christ_ ,” he half-slurred, nuzzling Michael’s neck.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, laconic, tucking his nose against Gavin’s hair. “Are you okay?”

Gavin snorted. “I’m fine, you nob. Are you?”

“Yeah. More than.” Gavin felt him smile. “Goddamn, I’m _really_ fine.”

“I’m the _best_ at gifts,” Gavin said emphatically, and Michael started laughing.

* * *

Perhaps sensing an opportunity to get more money out of the heir to an R&D empire, the flat owners called Gavin the day before their rental was up. They were very courteous, asking if Gavin wanted to borrow the place for longer, perhaps to enjoy the rest of the winter season with it, as Amsterdam was beautiful in winter.

Gavin agreed that it was. It wasn’t a fib, but it wasn’t exactly true either; while he had done all the touristy things he and Michael had planned, Gavin didn’t think of the city when he thought of Amsterdam. That was the odd bit that nagged at him as he declined the nice family’s offer and got back to doing the laundry.

“Are you sure?” Michael said from across the room, where he was lounged across the windowseat, holding a dark brown bottle of beer between two fingers. He was in just his briefs as the rest of his clothes were in the wash, casually showing off to anyone on the street who happened to look up.

He also had the two cuffs on, the leather shiny even in the dim winter light. The two rings were folded down, secure against his wrists. He’d only had them on a few days and Gavin already had a habit of working a finger into one of the rings, holding on loosely. It felt as private and intimate as Gavin had ever felt with his clothes on.

“Gav?”

Gavin shook his head. “Sorry. Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Because we could stay--”

“Michael,” Gavin said softly. He hitched the duvet he was essentially wearing higher around his shoulders and padded over to the seat. Michael bent his leg, making room for Gavin as they squeezed into the alcove together. “We can go. I _want_ to go. We’ve got places to go.”

Michael regarded him quietly, eyes soft, a feather’s weight as he traced Gavin’s features. “I started doing this to learn about humans. And…" He stopped, almost a stutter before taking a breath and going on. "Then Narvaroth happened and it became a necessity to keep moving.” He paused again and took a long drag of his beer, lips smacking. “I used to think…. I maybe still do, I guess, that I should do this because it’s…”

Gavin waited for him to go on before offering as gently as he could, “Penance?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Michael shook his head, like the idea was silly when they both knew it wasn’t, not for him. “But sometimes I want… _this_ too.” His lips curved up. “I could get used to having an actual kitchen and buying some games again, I think.”

“Life without mandatory check-out times,” Gavin added. There was also Griffon and Geoff, wanting to see him, and a world that hadn’t been awed by one of Gavin’s creations for at least two years-- barring the Austinion, anyway.

He felt Michael idly reach out and tuck his hair behind his ear again, trailing fingers down Gavin’s neck. They were cool from the bottle, and he shivered, almost tickled by the touch.

The washer clicked off, its spin cycle winding down, and Gavin sighed, getting up again. “Still.”

“Still?” Michael prompted.

“You asked me where home is, right? Well, I still don’t know.” Gavin paused on the edge of the rug, looking back at Michael. He looked good in the windowseat. Gavin took that detail, tucked it away into an open file in his mind to be referenced later. “But I might be figuring it out.”

Michael leaned back, tipping the rest of his drink into his mouth, swallowing loudly. “Well. You do have high fucking standards. So, let me know.”

Gavin nodded. “You’ll be the first, love.” Darting over the cool wooden floor to get to the machines, he added, “Carpet floors! We’re going to have bloody carpets _everywhere_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY DON'T STOP READING, LOOK HERE!
> 
> So I started working on this back in... October. My friend, Ben, who is a phenomenally talented, generous human being and a great artist and designer-- Ben learned the outline of this story from very early on and proceeded to make **24 pages** of comics and concept art of this AU and this fic in particular. Osaka in particular was **heavily** influenced by his work.
> 
> He posted all of the sketches [here](http://stretchmarxist.tumblr.com/post/68640627731/exceptional-dump-of-november-sketchbook-pages). I currently have them in a physical book on my table. My favorite is this, from Amsterdam: 
> 
> That link is NSFW but is very very worth checking out.
> 
> Okay, see y'all in the next one. /salutes


	2. deleted scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a scene cut from the Amsterdam segment of the fic. I mentioned it on my tumblr and people demanded to see it and enjoyed it. I like it a lot, it's pretty balls-to-the-wall physicality and, as one really sharp anon put it, music as setting, but it sadly didn't fix in the narrative.
> 
> So. Now it's a deleted scene.

He’d made some headway on a line of stitches on one design when Michael came home, carrying bags of groceries with one arm, probably the last he’d get for them before they left the city. “Hey, I’m going to try a souffle thing tonight, okay?” he said in lieu of a hello.

Gavin nodded, his focus on his hands. He listened to Michael clattering about in the kitchen for a while, the sound growing familiar and comforting. Then, the music playing through the house ticked louder.

Gavin wasn’t very music savvy, but he had access to Griffon and Geoff’s file collection back home and it was easy to just play their albums, plugging in his tablet to let it fill the house with whatever was in rotation back in Austin. It was a strange piece of the ranch house to carry around with him, but as the time since their last visit there grew longer, Gavin appreciated it more and more.

Today was some rough gritty rock that Gavin vaguely recognized but couldn’t name if his life depended on it. It was nice, keeping him awake without really demanding his attention, and more than anything Gavin nodded his head along to the stomping drums.

Michael apparently liked it, as the sound grew, and Gavin grinned. Michael’s love for music that he carried to Earth with him from his homeworld was strange, rooted in something deep in him. Gavin couldn’t hope to understand what a world that told its history with song would be like, but he was happy to reap the benefits of having Michael’s lovely musical inclinations with him.

The bass thumped along, teasing and almost twangy, and Gavin looked up to catch Michael staring at him, apparently waiting. He smiled with teeth and dimples, and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on the table with a fluidity to his motion that prodded at something deep inside Gavin. It was the arch of Michael’s arm, the way his body turned into the movement, and the follow through of him stepping forward to Gavin with a tread so smooth it was like he was flying, not walking.

But he wasn’t walking, Gavin realized with a start as Michael did this shift with his feet and his hips following along, he was  _dancing_. It was a concise little two-step that brought him closer to Gavin. It was so unexpected and ridiculous that Gavin started to giggle nervously, covering his mouth. Michael just fucking beamed at him and toed off his shoes, starting to sing along with the vocalist’s stripped down voice, putting on a show as he rolled along, one hand at his belt, thumb loosening it before sliding it out and tossing it with his coat.

Gavin felt dizzy from how fast he flushed. He opened his mouth to ask what possessed Michael or why or—  _anything_ , but the idea of interrupting seemed like a crime as Michael clearly enjoyed himself so much. He pulled off his knit cap and dug a hand into his curls, mussing them. All the while, his careful, smooth dancing brought him right up to Gavin.

“ _Maybe I’m too busying being yours_ ,” Michael sang with easy confidence and a rough-hewn voice, “ _to fall for somebody new_.” He caught Gavin’s hands, pulling until Gavin was drawn to his feet and into Michael. The guitars overlapped into some relentless hum of bass, low and cajoling. Michael guided Gavin’s hands to his hips, and holding on made it easy to follow along, moving with him. He tucked his fingers into the band of Gavin’s soft flannel trousers and urged his hips to the same rhythm.

Gavin didn’t have the coordination to dance, really, and if he were able to he’d automate as much of his own ambulatory motion as he could just to avoid the clumsy results. Somehow, like an extension of Michael’s inexplicable inherent magic, Gavin didn’t fall on his face or step on Michael’s toes. He felt drawn up into the casual grace of it, and laughed as he looked down at his feet, moving counter to Michael’s like he knew what the hell he was doing.

Michael’s finger under his chin brought his gaze back up, and his attention was rewarded; Michael looked him dead in the eye with a frightening intensity as he slid out of his button-down, one arm, then the next to let the shirt bundle at the crook of his elbow. Gavin couldn’t resist tracing his nails over the new skin offered up, grasping at his intricate tattoos hungrily. Michael threw his shirt aside, not even glancing to where it fell, and swept his freed hand into Gavin’s hair, pulling him in so his forehead rested against Michael’s, continuing to sing at him.

It was too tempting to not keep going. Gavin skated his fingers down, over the small intricate mail of Michael’s undershirt, the gleaming armor, until he reached the latches against Michael’s ribs. Michael’s grin widened and he nodded against Gavin’s face, and Gavin started to help him out of the piece.

The metallic shiver it made as it hit the ground had always been and still was one of the greatest sounds Gavin had ever heard, the precursor to Gavin getting to touch Michael’s skin, feeling the lushness of his soft fuzz and the warmth of him without barrier. It was as cool as ever in the flat, and Gavin greedily palmed as much of Michael’s skin as he could, because it’d be a shame for him to be cold.

Michael kissed the corner of his mouth, then back further, drawing Gavin in closer until there was not enough room left for breath between them and the easy two-step turned mostly into Michael’s hips flush against Gavin’s and just  _moving_  as Michael’s lips brushed his ear as he sang.

The choked sound Gavin made was mortifying in comparison to Michael’s lovely voice, but he was so beyond caring. His hands rested at the snap of Michael’s jeans and found Michael’s hand already there. Gavin bit down a groan and tried to help, fingers tucking into the waistband and running along the trim circumference of Michael’s waist. It was a team effort getting his jeans down as the music hummed through Gavin’s bones. Michael stepped back once, then again when he had Gavin following, and Gavin pushed him the rest of the way to the window seat, laughing.

“You bloody  _minx_ ,” Gavin accused as he pressed Michael down and climbed up with him. “I was working.”

Michael lay his head back, letting Gavin’s weight tip him over. He gripped him tight, pulling him close to say, “S’good song.” His hands spread wide over Gavin’s skin, tucking up under his jumper, cold against Gavin’s skin.


End file.
